Maybe Tomorrow
by UntilTomorrowAlways
Summary: It's her worst nightmare. This wasn't supposed to happen, ever. Not to him. Not to them. Castle got shot, a bullet lodged in his chest. And now, Beckett is left to pick up the shattered pieces. One-shot.


**A/N: Hi! I decided to write this short one-shot, I got the idea and it just wouldn't leave me alone. Just a warning though. It's super, super angsty. So read at your own risk. I really hope you like it, and feedback is always welcome! Have a nice week, everyone.**  
**Disclaimer: I own nothing from ABC's Castle. It all belongs to them.**

* * *

Beckett wakes up slowly, yawning. She grabs the ringing alarm, turning it off, a sigh escaping her lips. They have to go to work. She feels the man next to her mumble in his sleep, something about aliens and horses. Her lips curve up into a smile, and she runs a hand through her tangled hair. Her chest fills with warmth when she looks at Castle, with his messy hair and sleeping face.

"Babe, come on, we've gotta get to work, wake up," she murmurs, touching his shoulder and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

He opens his eyes sluggishly, staring at her. "Alright, alright. I'm getting up. I'll start the coffee while you shower. I'll join you in a bit," he says, winking. A chuckle tumbles from her mouth, and she nods, throwing the covers off them both and getting up quickly, her feet making a soft thump when they touch the wooden floor. She makes her way over to the bathroom, sleep still coursing through her veins. When she gets there, she removes her wedding ring, putting it safely in a jewelery box. They got married eight months ago, and they've never been happier. She loves waking up to him every morning, their morning routine, the coffee and breakfast, everything. She adores everything about it. Sure, they argue once in a while, but that's natural. He still is a nine year old on a sugar rush, sometimes. He still manages to annoy her to no end. But that doesn't matter. He accepts her with all her flaws, and she accepts him. He's an amazing man, the love of her life, one of the best things that has ever happened to her. Eyes sparkling, she steps into the warm stream of water.

When they get to the precinct, they're holding hands, wedding rings glinting in the fluorescent lights. Ryan and Esposito greet them, and tell them they've made a small break in the case they caught yesterday. They have to go question a suspect about a dubious alibi. It might be nothing, but it might crack the case wide open.

"Okay, Castle and I'll go question him, you guys stay here and try to establish a time line for our vic," orders Beckett, grabbing her jacket and car keys, Castle trailing at her heels. As always, Beckett drives while her husband spouts crazy theories about the suspect. They finally arrive at the yellowing apartment building and enter through the aged doors, voices quiet.

"Apartment 5A, right?" Asks Castle, staring at her with inquisitive eyes. She nods, stopping at the correct door. She knocks twice, getting out her badge. It finally opens.

"Yeah?" Inquires a man with large brown eyes and spiked black hair.

"Hi, my name is Detective Beckett and this is Richard Castle, from the NYPD. May we come in?" She shows him her badge, voice polite but clipped.

"Uh, sure-"

Castle abruptly cuts him off, voice thundering, echoing off the flaking walls. "Kate!"

And suddenly she's tumbling to the ground, Castle pushing her over, falling next to her, a gunshot ringing through the hallway. She yelps, jumping up, panic surging through her, eyes wide as she looks for the shooter. She pulls out her gun when she sees a blond lady fleeing, weapon in hand.

"Stop, Police! Stop or I'll shoot!" The lady turns around, raising her gun, eyes burning with a delirious look. Her finger is about to pull the trigger but Beckett is faster, and two dense bullets pierce the woman's chest. She collapses, unmoving.

Then Kate hears Castle groan from behind her. She runs over to him, a hot wave of terror crashing over her.  
A bullet is in his chest. A bullet is ripping him in two. Crimson blood is staining the ground. Kate cries out, falling to her knees next to him. She whips out her phone with trembling fingers, dialing 911 on autopilot.

Castle. _Rick. _

A sob escapes her throat. She takes off her jacket, balling it up and putting it on the wound, trying to stop the dark red blood from escaping the hole in his chest.

"No, no, no. Stay with me, please. I cannot lose you. I can't. I love you so much, don't leave me," she whispers hoarsely, scalding tears trailing down her cheeks. His piercing blue eyes stare at her, clouded with pain, slowly filling with moisture.

"K-Kate, I love you s-so much," he murmurs in between gasps, his breathing labored. He clutches her hand softly, fingernails digging into her palm. His hands are cold. They shouldn't be cold. They should be warm and comforting, soft and smooth. Not this, never this.

"Please, don't leave me, I need you," she responds, squeezing his hand, gasps wracking her entire body.

This cannot be happening.

No. She can't lose him. She won't be able to handle it. She needs him, she loves him and what about Alexis and Martha? He can't leave them, it will destroy everything, everyone. She hears the sirens in the distance, her heartbeat pounding in her ears and her head and her fingertips, she's choking on the knot in her throat, she can't _breathe_. He's fading fast, his eyes dimming with every passing second. His hand falls from her grip, and his head rolls to the side, eyes closing.

"No!" She screams, desperation staining her voice, panic turning everything into a slow motion movie, into sludge. Her hands press the white jacket that's now stained red harder onto the wound, eyes blurred with tears.

Suddenly gloved hands are pushing her away and are heaving his lifeless body onto a stretcher, shouting orders as they wheel him away. She tries to follow, but a young paramedic stops her, telling her that she can't be in that ambulance, the doctors need space to work. She says that she'll drive Kate to the hospital. Beckett just nods, not uttering a word. She climbs into the car, handing the kind paramedic her keys.

The only thoughts in her mind are Castle, Castle, Rick. An endless loop of _him_. He has to be okay. He _has_ to. Her whole world is tilting on its side, about to fall off the edge and shatter. The paramedic is saying something, but Beckett isn't listening, her brain in a completely other place.

She touches Kate's shoulder softly, trying to grab her attention. "We're here, at the hospital."

Beckett jumps slightly, shaking her head. "Okay. Thanks for the drive." And she gets out of the car, movements automatic. She walks into the building, the sharp of smell of antiseptic hitting her hard. She takes a deep breath, blinking back tears. She sits down in one of the plastic chairs, taking out her phone. She has to call Alexis and Martha, they deserve to hear what happened from her. She should also call the boys and Lanie. Fingers quivering, she dials their numbers, chewing on her lower lip.

* * *

It's been two hours. Two long, torturous hours. Martha and Alexis sit beside her, hands clasped together. Lanie and the boys sit on her left, not speaking, their presence reassuring enough. Beckett stares at the floor, hands still caked with his blood. She hasn't moved a muscle since they got here. Outside, she seems composed, cold, okay. But on the inside, oh, the inside is a completely different story.

She's crumbling, collapsing, turning to ash and dust and _nothing_.

This her fault, all her fault. She should have had his back, she should have been there, she should have taken the bullet. Not him. He has a daughter, a mother, a family. He doesn't deserve this. Guilt, worry, and more guilt keep attacking her, a thousand different scenarios playing out in her head, how she should have, _could_ have saved him. She's a cop, he's a writer. He shouldn't be in this situation. This morning he was making her coffee, laughter spilling from his lips, he was awake and breathing and it was supposed to be a normal day, with a case and his insane theories. Now, he's in surgery, a bullet lodged in his heart, bleeding out. Now, his daughter is in tears and his mother can't stop shaking.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," murmurs Ryan, blue eyes staring at her, flicking to the red on her hands.

She sighs, rubbing her eyes. "I should have seen it, I should have stopped it, somehow."

"You didn't see it coming. The person that shot him was high on drugs, her tox screen came back and it was meth. You didn't know," says Lanie, touching her back. She flinches, not meeting their gazes.

Alexis looks over at them, eyes heavy and shoulders sagging. "My Dad's a fighter, he'll get through this, he has to," she mumbles, tears filling her eyes once again. Beckett nods, and puts her head in her hands, bones turned to led. She's so tired. She stays like that for minutes, maybe hours, she doesn't know. All she knows is that a doctor in scrubs is suddenly, _finally_, walking towards them, eyes soft, expression somber.

She doesn't want to hear the words that come out of his mouth, but it's too late because he's already speaking, voice deep and quiet. "You are the family and friends of Mr. Castle, is that correct?" They all nod, standing up. He keeps talking. "Mr. Castle came in with a pretty heavy amount of blood loss and a head trauma from hitting the ground when he fell. His surgery was quite complicated, and he suffered some complications. He's alive." A collective sigh of relief sounds through the room. But the doctor isn't done. His eyes are full of pity. "However, due to lack of oxygen in the brain, Mr. Castle in a deep coma. I'm so sorry."

A question forms on her tongue, a terrifying question, but the question they all need asked and answered. "Will-Will he ever wake up?"

Everyone stills, the air thick, writhing, boiling with anticipation and anxiety.

The doctor takes off his scrub cap, eyebrows knitted together. "No, we don't think so. He lost too much blood, and his brain was deprived of oxygen for too long. It's a pretty rare complication, but it happens. I'm so sorry."

Alexis gasps, Martha cries out, falling back into the chair, hand covering her mouth. Ryan whispers "No," voice cracking. Esposito lowers his eyes to the floor, not saying a word, jaw clenched. Lanie clasps her hands together, eyes filling with tears.

And Kate's breath is knocked out of her lungs, like a punch to the stomach. She can't breathe or see or hear, all she can do is repeat the words '_permanent coma never going to wake up gone forever' _again and again in her head, the room spinning, her heart hammering against her ribcage, like it's trying to break free. This is her fault, she basically killed him and what the _hell_ is she supposed to do now? They had plans. They were going to paint the living room, they were going to renovate the kitchen together, they were going to visit Italy and France and Spain. They were going to have a baby. They were going to form a beautiful family, go camping in the forest, teach their wonderful child how to swim and how to build sandcastles.

Now? That's all over. In an instant, it's all been ripped away from beneath her, her world burning and crashing. Her future, _their_ future, gone. Because of a bullet. Because of blood loss. Because of her. Because she couldn't save him.

The doctor says that they can visit him if they want to. Alexis and Martha go to his room, shaking and crying. She lets them go, they deserve to see him first. Beckett doesn't move, eyes wide open in shock. She sits back down in the rigid chair, breathing accelerated. Lanie puts a hand on her shoulder, and Beckett closes her eyes. "I'm so sorry," says Esposito, voice trembling. They all sit there in silence, gazes dark, minds darker, absorbing the news. Beckett is drowning in it, flailing in the waves of devastating shock and loss. No. Not him. Please.

* * *

It's been three and a half weeks, no change. She visits him every single day, right after Martha and Alexis. She talks to him, even though she knows he can't hear her. She tells him about her day, how she can't move his chair in the precinct because it's the only thing he left behind there. She can't throw away his toothbrush, or the socks that lie on the bedroom floor. She tells him about the nightmares that torment her every night, causing dark circles under haunted eyes. The flashes of him torment her every single waking hour. She tells him she misses him, more and more every day. It hurts, the ache of his loss in her chest increasing with every passing minute. The grief and agony come in waves. Some days, she's numb. She feels nothing but gray, lifeless, an empty void in a sea of nothing. She's able to work those days, she's able to function, barely. But it's the other days, the _way_ more common days, that are slowly eroding her. The days where she's paralyzed in the sheets that still smell like him, heart cracking and pain filling every single cell of her body. Her mind won't stop spinning in circles and loops because he's gone, he's actually gone, he left her behind and it's really hard to breathe. On those days, she wishes she'd taken the bullet. On those days, she's by his side all day, not going to work, because she desperately _needs_ to hold his hand and remember that he was alive, once.

She needs him. She's not sure she can do this without him, without his strength and smiles and beauty. She tells him she's sorry she didn't save him. She's full of guilt and burning, ugly self loathing, tangled vines around a sinking heart.

She pleads, _begs, _for him to wake up_. _She can't stand the silent apartment anymore. She can't stand _his_ silence, his deathly silence anymore. Deep down, she knows he won't answer. He will never answer.

Every visit, she tells him a thousand times, "I love you, I love you, _I love you_." It's all whispers and murmurs and syllables falling onto deaf ears, but she needs to say it, she needs to be reminded that she is, _was_, capable of love, not this disgust and churning hatred and remorse that bloats and courses through her arteries.

They promised each other _always_, and always is what he'll get. She won't give up. She will never give up on him.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day.

Maybe tomorrow, he'll wake up.

Maybe tomorrow.


End file.
